


It's easier to cover up a panic attack than you'd think it would be.

by This_ape_writes



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attack, cursing, did I mention cursing?, mention of cannon temporary death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-19
Updated: 2016-11-19
Packaged: 2018-08-31 22:23:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8596087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/This_ape_writes/pseuds/This_ape_writes
Summary: Jim thinks he better at covering up a panic attack than he actually is.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So I had a panic attack of my own the other night and I was actually successful in hiding it from everyone around me. I use all of these techniques myself and writing this was one of my ways of coping. This is kind of my half longing that I had a Bones that would notice and my half irritation of what I would feel if I did. 
> 
> Except I kinda know that I do have my own Bones and I am annoyed when she knows me better than I do. 
> 
> Also I'm not 28 anymore and I've never died of radiation poisoning in a warp core either. 
> 
> Enjoy.

It's easier to cover up a panic attack than you'd think it would be. Especially when you've spent every day of your twenty eight years in existence carefully disciplining yourself to not be a burden to another living soul. 

And if you've been having panic attacks for fifteen plus out of those twenty eight years then you've had a hell of a lot of practice. 

So when a panic attack does hit, you know that the clenching rolling of your stomach is easier to ignore by pressing one of your palms into your belly button. That usually does the trick to keep your most recent meal in place and it doesn't draw much attention. 

And the deep burning pain that lights up your chest and trickles down to lay with a heavy ache in the heels of your hands is uncomfortable but invisible to outside eyes. 

The muscles that desperately want to shift and move and run away from wherever you are, can be kept at bay by squeezing them in alternating groups until they fatigue and uncoil. 

And as for the symptoms that can be seen, like the slight tremors when you go to retrieve a coffee cup or slightly elevated breathing and heart rates that sound excessively loud to your own ears, or even the slight sweating that breaks out across your forehead are all not as prominent to outsiders as you'd think. 

Most people are so caught up in themselves that they never even notice. 

It's almost like they can't notice. 

Like they're blind. 

And those that do pick up on them don't usually say anything or question why they might be there because we are socially trained to steer clear of problems that don't directly effect us. 

And if you top off the entire masking job with a wide smile and inane small talk you can hide successfully in plain sight. 

Eventually these tactics either get you to a point where the panic recedes and you can go about your day or at the very least it buys you time until you can gracefully excuse yourself to a private location where you can very ungracefully, lose your shit. 

At least that's what I'd experienced so far in my life. 

Today was no different. 

I am riding the worst of my symptoms along with a wide smile and calculating and sensing the perfect timing to causally interject and excuse myself to my room. But of course today as it turns out might actually be a tiny bit different after all. 

And it's completely out of my control. 

I'm counting my breathing to make sure it seems normal and curling my toes against the hard soles of my shoes when I catch the eyes of my best friend staring at me from across the room. I don't hold his gaze but keep up with my small talk to those that are standing nearby but not before seeing his eyebrows pull down and his head slide a few inches to his left so that his view of me is unobstructed. Great. Why was I attracting his attention? Why now? 

But I ignore that. He's probably just bored with his own conversation circle and looking for an out himself so I clench my fingers so that my nails crush inward on my palms with just enough pressure to release my jangling nerves while praying he isn't doing what I think he's doing. 

It takes a few more falsely steadying breaths and I am able to chance another glance in his direction to make sure he's gone back to not paying me any mind. I was holding together. I was going to be just fine there was no reason for him to get all...protective. 

But dammit I'm not that lucky. As I meet his eyes again I see that he is not only still staring he has now pushed away from the wall and his arms are no longer crossed against his chest. 

Dammit. 

My mind lets loose with a long string of silent curse words into my already panic clouded head and it's a miracle that none of those words actually slip their way out of my mouth. I grow my smile by a few fractions more and I'm very glad to see he is staying put well away from me for now but even in my panic addled state I'm not diluted enough to think this will last. 

I know him better than that. 

And I know exactly what he looks like when he's worried about me. Hell he's been worrying as long as I've known him. And I also know that once he starts he isn't going to stop until he helps me somehow. 

 

Well fuck him. 

 

Ok so, change of plans. I have to make my graceful exit a bit earlier than scheduled in order to get the hell away from him. No biggie. I just need the right second. I'm smart. I'm fast. It wouldn't take hardly anything and I could escape. 

I just need a tiny break. 

And right as I am about to give up, it happens. Someone I don't quite know but who I'm immensely grateful for asks him a direct question in his circle of conversation. That forces his concentration on me to break as he turns his head away. 

That's all I need, that split second. And I am smiling and excusing myself and already in the lift. 

Damn I'm good. 

I'm congratulating myself for being so slick but I'm too early with my self satisfied praise. 

Turns out I'm not as good as I thought. 

Now that my body has been given a small taste of freedom it is taking it in leaps and bounds. My no longer restrained tremors jolt through my arms and it is making it tricky to hit the button for the right floor and I sure as hell am not going to trust my voice to speak a command out loud. 

So as my fingers knock over themselves and clang into the wall trying to make it to the control screen I have given him the chance to extricate himself from his side of the room and to slip through the doors that won't close fast enough so that by the time I am finally able to select the floor I want, he is safely inside, and the doors are sealing us in. 

Double fuck him. 

I close my eyes as the tremors volt their way into my core and I jump like I've been shocked when his fingers slide across my arm. 

"Please don't," I spit out and it sounds rough and tight and way too high to have actually come out of me. But it did. 

"What's wrong?" he murmurs in a tone that is the exact opposite of what my mouth has just released. It's all warm liquid, and low tones, that are smooth and relaxed and it physically hurts me to hear it. 

I wince. 

And I don't answer his question. 

His hand on my arm slides to my wrist and I know it's to check my god damned pulse but it feels so nice I fight the impulse to shake him off and instead I focus on staying perfectly still. 

He doesn't ask me again. But he does reach his arm across me to push another button on the panel that is just inches from my right ear. I hear the soft beep of acknowledgement of his selection and I feel my tremors get worse. 

I don't move a muscle. I stay completely still and facing forward. He must be taking me to medical and that's not going to help it's going to make it worse but I can't untangle my tongue to object. 

Triple fuck him. 

Why couldn't he let me be? I had this under control. I was going to survive. Now this is going to be a much larger thing than it needs to be. There will be charts and records and drugs...

His hand doesn't move from my wrist as we descend but when the doors whoosh open I'm surprised to see we are on my floor. I glance at the panel and I notice the number 8 is still lit and not 5 like we are now exiting on. 

In my panic I'd hit the wrong floor. 

He wasn't taking me to medical. He was actually helping me. And helping me in the way I actually wanted to be helped. 

 

Yeah...well. Still. Fuck him. 

He nudges me forward with a mild push against my shoulder blade and my toe of my left boot clips the edge of my right but I keep my balance. Mostly because he's still holding my wrist. 

He doesn't say anything on our long walk down the empty hallway and it gives me the chance to slip into hyper focus. I can hear the slightly muffled thuds of our shoes as they strike the thin industrial grade carpet and I hear the long laces of my boots as they slap against themselves with each footfall. I can hear the slight changes in the thickness of the metal floors in the way that the thuds change in pitch beneath our feet. 

We finally reach my door and I start to lift my hand to unlock it but he makes a gruff noise to stop me and swiftly keys in the entry code. I pull out of his grip as I cross the threshold and I walk to the far end of he room. He closes the door behind us as I reach the far wall. I turn and pace back towards him and I catch out of the corner of my eye as he leans against the edge of my desk. I pace away from him again and walk all the way up to the far wall and stop. 

I want to keep pacing.

But I don't want to face him anymore. 

So I take in several breaths that are way too shallow and quick and I lean my forehead against the wall as I do. 

I hear him stand up and walk toward me but I don't flinch this time when his hand rests against my back. 

"Long slow breaths. Get yourself some air," he says in a voice that can't technically be categorized as a whisper but it's damn near close. 

"I'll be alright. You can head back up there," I say without opening my eyes. 

He snorts. 

"Thanks for your permission, Captain, but I think I'll stay right here." And I try not to think too much about how he never uses my rank when it's not just dripping with sarcasm. I guess we know each other way too well for protocol to make any sense. 

"I'm not dying it's just a panic attack," I say as I begrudgingly follow his earlier order by taking in a long breath. 

"I know," he says as his hand makes a few small laps around the center of my back before resting warmly in one spot. I sigh when the pain in my chest kicks out again and I press the heels of my hands against my hip bones to make them stop. "Does moving help? Siting? A shower?" he asks. I shake my head. 

"I just need...its..." I lick my lips and shake my head again and bring one of my arms up to the wall in front of my head so I have something mildly soft to lean into. 

"What? You need what?" 

"Nothing forget it," I say.

"James..." he warns. 

"I need to lose control for a bit alright? And I can't do that with you hovering!" I spit out and end with a burst of a laugh. 

He spits out his own huffed laugh and takes a step back. 

"Sorry kid. Go ahead. Lose your shit. You won't get any judgment from me," he says. I bring my other hand up and rub it across my face as I stay leaning into the wall. 

"It's not a light switch Bones," I say with too many sharp edges in my tone, but again fuck him and his 'understanding'.

"No I get that. I'll give you some space. Ima make some tea. Just ignore me being here," he says as he walks over to the kitchenette. I push against the wall and roll so that my back is pressed against it instead and I slide to the ground and sit. I drop my forehead against my inside of knees where they meet and I press my palms into the outside of my knees as I suck in as deep of a breath as my lungs will allow. 

"Why now?" I mutter but it's not a question for him and I'm glad that he realizes that as he doesn't respond. 

This is stupid. I haven't had anything stressful happen in weeks. I haven't lost anyone. I haven't gotten anyone hurt. I haven't had to do anything particularly unpleasant. But here I am in the midst of a damn attack with no clear cause. 

Ok. Well. 

Not with *no* clear cause that's a bit of a lie. 

 

I had just retold the story of my own death a few hours ago. And as much as I am over the worst of that, I really am, it still catches me off guard sometimes. 

I remember how bad it fucking hurt. 

I remember losing my breath. 

I remember it all going away. 

Fuck. 

I hear water as it beings to slowly stream into a mug across the room and it's followed by the soft clink of a spoon as it meets the insides of the mug as well. He must be stirring as the spoons clinks continue and I can't help it. I have to scream. 

Luckily my room is heavily soundproofed so I know nothing will travel so I yell as long and as loud as I can until I'm out of breath and I suck in more air and start again. It's not a perfect coping mechanism. Crying is much more efficient in getting me back to zero but it's not a light switch. It's not. I can't just make tears manifest whenever the hell I please. 

But I can yell. 

So I do that with as much gusto as I can. 

I suck in another deep breath and scream with as much force and as much energy as I can manage. And after the sixth or maybe seventh full force yell I'm starting to feel a little better. After ten, my throat is mad at me, and I'm shaking from exertion mixed with the exhaustion of having held everything in but when my breath fades out my stomach is once again still. 

It's in knots but it's still.

And the ache in my chest feels better too. It feels alarmingly empty. But better. 

 

Even my muscles have lost their will to fight me. They feel weak and stringy like I've just run several miles but they no longer want to jump out of my body and leave. 

My breathing is slowing, and my sweat is drying. 

Only my heart remains stubborn and pounding but each beat softens and it'll get there soon too. 

I didn't hear him approaching. 

Blood curdling screams tend to block out much of anything else. 

But he's sitting beside me now and when he rubs his hands across my back it isn't even rough but I have lost so much energy I sway back and forth easily before I find myself pulled into him. My eye nestles perfectly against the curve of his collar bone and one hand is firm in gripping my shoulder while the other palm rests with light pressure against the side of my forehead. 

"You're ok. It's alright," he mutters. I can feel his heartbeat, half the speed of my own, and I focus on just that for a few minutes hoping my own heart will take the hint and match the normal ass speed. 

It doesn't quite get there but it's doing its best as I let my arms drop limp to my sides and just fucking relax. 

"I'm s..." I open my mouth to let the apology slur out but he interrupts me immediately and talks over my words in a loud protest. 

"No don't you dare. Don't you even dare," he growls. Honestly growls. And I let my words trail into weak silence as I close my mouth and sigh. 

"Fuck you," I say with a smile pulling at my mouth as I reach my arm up enough to weakly drop it against his stomach. 

"Thanks," he mutters but I can hear the smile in his tone too. 

"No I mean it," I say "I had it under control. How the hell did you know what was happening? No one ever knows what's happening with me because I make sure that they miss it. I can deal with this easier on my own." 

"Well that's a damn lie if ever I heard one," he says as his fingers dig in a tiny bit to my shoulder. 

"How did you know?" I press again. 

I ask because I have to know. Partly out of curiosity I guess. But if I'm honest I'm looking for the flaws in my plan. The holes in my armor. The places I can reinforce for next time so I can go back to being in control. Go back to not being a pathetic burden. Back to being alone. 

"I know because I know *you*," he says like it's the simplest answer in the world and I'm a dumbass for missing it. 

"Thats vague as hell and very helpful," I say with a frown as I pick at a piece of lint that as balled itself up on his shirt. He chuckles with just a rush of air from his nose and he shakes his head. 

"I know you hate talking about when you died almost as much as I hate hearing it," he says. And my heart decides it's not quite relaxed yet as it thump thump thumps in my chest again. "So I was on high alert anyway with you. Plus I know you think you've got this system. This fool proof way of hiding what's going on," he says. 

"Yeah. I do," I say and he chuckles out loud this time. 

"Yeah I'm sorry to break this to you but it's shit," he says. I sit up at that and his palm slides away from my head but his arm around my shoulder stays firm. I frown. 

"It's not shit," I spit out at him and he gives me a look like I've lost my damn mind. 

"It's shit," he says again. And I frown. "Look it might work on stupid people. Or people lost in their own heads. Or really unaware idiots who wouldn't notice a fire if it was crawling up their face. But if anyone pays even just a tiny bit of attention like I was doing all day, Jim, it's as obvious as you having neon signs and sirens blaring that scream 'I am not ok'." I feel my frown twitching as I try and understand. But I can't. 

"But no ones' ever noticed before. And I have spent my life around brilliant people so don't tell me they're dumb because they aren't," I say. 

He sighs and his eyes close for a split second as his reaches up to touch my face. 

"They aren't dumb. That's not the right description, I'm sorry. It's just that I don't understand how they've missed it. And I get angry at anyone who has ever let you think you had to go through this shit on your own. I admire the hell out of you for trying and for surviving all these years but for fucks sake cut it out."

I breath in a deep breath and I feel my frown grow deeper. 

"But I've worked so hard to cover it up. How..." I ask still prodding. I can still learn for next time. I can. 

 

"I immediately noticed when you started to shift. I can tell when you're starting to get antsy. Lord knows I've seen you bolt from places enough over the years that I know the signs kiddo, sorry. Then your hands started clenching, I could see you breathing like you were short of air. You went pale and sweaty. I don't know what else to say," he says. "I'm telling you it's like neon signs are blinking." He shrugs. "You can't hide from me." 

I don't like the way that makes my stomach drop and roll. And I really don't like the way that makes me feel relieved. I clench my fists again out of spite and fury and my frown grows angry. 

"I guess I'll have to work out a better system then," I say. And he sighs. 

And his face goes unreadable to me. 

It's a look I've never quite seen him have. 

And he doesn't move. He doesn't talk. He just looks at me. And then he sighs. 

"Oh Jim," he breathes out in a quiet murmur as he frowns. "That's my point. You don't have to." 

And the relief that my traitorous body sends me then makes me want to punch myself in the face. But I sigh and lean back against the wall as his arm slides around me tighter. 

"Fuck you," is all I can muster as I lean in to his shoulder and close my eyes. 

"Mmhmm," he says. "Come on. Get up," he adds as he shakes me off of his shoulder and drags me to my feet. 

"Alright. Let me just wash my face and we'll head out," I say as I stand on shaky legs and stretch my arms over my head. 

"Like hell you will. I was just moving you. Sit down on the bed," he orders. 

"Bones I can't. There's..." 

"Nothing pressing you need to be at. All the formalities are over. This milling around shit could go on for hours and your presence will be missed but not dwelled on. I can even make up a nice excuse if it'll make you feel better but you are not leaving this room now sit," he orders again as he walks back to the kitchen. I close my mouth and drop against my mattress but I'm not done protesting. 

"I really don't..."

"Yea you do," he counters as he walks back toward me. "Now here drink a little bit of this." 

He hands me the tea he was preparing before and as I take it I snuffle out a laugh. 

"What are you British? You know tea doesn't actually fix anything right?" I ask as I lift the cup to my lips and take a small sip. 

"Normally I'd agree with you. But you were holding your stomach earlier. And something tells me if you'd fought yourself much longer up there the first thing you would have done when we got inside here would have been to evacuate your dinner. Am I wrong?" he asks. 

I shrug. 

I hate just how right he's been all night. Its all been right on the money and it's annoying. 

"So this tea is a special blend. It'll sooth your stomach. And I don't want your blood sugar dropping after all this so it's got honey in it too. Plus tea is just god damned soothing so cut the crap and drink up," he says as he drops down on the mattress next to me and scoots back enough to lean against the headboard with a sigh. I take another sip and I don't want to admit how nice it is. So I scowl at him so he knows I'm still pissed and I drink away. 

I make it about halfway through and my stomach decides that's enough right now with an impressive lurch so I set the mug on my bedside table. I lay down on my side facing away from him and curl up with my hand tucked under my chin. 

"How long do I have to lay here," I ask and I hear him sigh in a dramatic world weary fashion. 

"God it's like pullin' teeth. Just relax will ya?" 

"Fine," I grumble as I pull my pillow further under my head and try and get comfortable. But I'm not stupid. I know that I've worn myself out. I do need to recover for a bit and even if it's a bit early still to actually fall asleep for the night I can lay here. I can. So I lay back and try and do just that. I can hear every single breath as I rushes in and out of my lungs. And across the room I hear the faint tick of an old clock my mother gave me when I was a kid. It ticks solidly. Second by second. And each time it does I feel worse and worse.  
"I feel stupid," I blurt out and that makes him shift towards me. 

"What?" he asks. I roll onto my back and stare up at the ceiling. 

"I feel stupid!" I say louder as I drop the back of my hand over my face. "God this is why I do this alone. I over reacted and now I feel like a complete idiot and I would like to disappear. I should have just stayed put upstairs. I shouldn't have left." 

My eyes are covered so I don't see it coming. I just feel him shift and then a dull ache hits my arm as he punches me. 

"Ow!" I protest. 

"You didn't overreact. Don't feel stupid. Come on it's me," he says. "I wasn't just talking out of my ass before I meant it. I'm not judging you in any way shape or form. Kid. Look at me," he says as he pulls at my arm. I fight him but he's stubborn and he has more energy reserves. "Hey look at me," he says and I roll my head just enough to make eye contact with him. He opens his mouth. And then closes it. And screws up his face for a fraction of a second before shaking his head. "Did you know that the day after you woke up I got forcibly taken off active duty?" 

I roll over towards him at this confession and rest my cheek on my palm as I shake my head. 

"No I didn't know that. Exhaustion?" I ask knowing he'd spent sleepless nights doing everything in his power to bring me back again. That would have been enough to knock anyone on their ass. He snorts. 

"Partly. But no. I was removed because doing exactly what you did today but on a massively worse scale and in front of my entire medical team," he says. 

That's...new information. 

He'd seemed fine to me each time I'd seen him in my room. 

"Huh," is as intelligent a response as I can muster. 

"Chapel found me in a sobbing mess under a desk just after the start of the first shift one day. I couldn't move. I was shaking too hard." 

"Why?" I ask. And he shakes his head. 

"Because I lost you. And then I didn't. And that really fucked me up. It *still* fucks me up I can admit that now," he says. 

"Oh..." I say. Which is a dumb thing to say. I knew my death was hard on him. I don't know why I hadn't ever stopped to think about how hard it still might be. 

"Oh..." I say again because I guess that's all I can say. 

"Yeah 'oh'," he laughs. "Don't feel stupid. Or do. You can't really control feelings to spite what Vulcans believe. But you don't have to feel stupid. Not with me. Not about this. This is nothing. Just a blip of something that happened. What's important is you're here. And you're alive. Everything else?" he shrugs. "Fuck it." 

"Fuck it," I repeat. And I reach over to grab his arm. There's lots of things that are swirling in my head. Several speeches I've written over the years that someday I might actually say. Hundreds of things he should probably know. But I can't sort them out. Not tonight. So I settle for, 

"Thank you," I tell him hoping that he knows how much that phrase should encompass. 

Thank you for befriending me when I didn't have anyone.

For patching me up after countless times of me being an idiot. 

For listening to fears and helping me be who I am. 

For pushing me and keeping me honest. 

For never giving up on me. 

For saving my life so many times I've lost count. 

For noticing. 

For caring. 

For understanding. 

For staying. 

"Of course," he says as he rests his hand on top of my own. "Thank you."


End file.
